


time will tell

by sweettasteofbitter



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-31 07:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6460924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweettasteofbitter/pseuds/sweettasteofbitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cassandra finds a book, confesses something very personal at the most inopportune of times, and has to watch while everything escalates beyond the Inquisition’s control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a universe in which Cassandra has had feelings for Josephine for a long, long time, but never acted on them. Set around the events of Trespasser, and therefore not the same universe as any of the other pentilyet fics I have written so far.

There's a forlorn book lying on one of the garden benches, and Cassandra is fighting a losing battle with her curiosity; it takes her quite a bit of effort not to pick up the volume and leaf through its pages. She sees no reason why she should read the title and turn the worn cover; the book is not hers, and surely the owner will realize they are missing one of their belongings and come to pick it up sooner or later. It would be embarrassing to be caught red-handed with someone else's property in her hands, so she lets the book rest on the surface of the Winter Palace garden bench.

She's the only person in this remote corner of the garden. It's a quiet place, which is precisely _why_ she is here. The onset of the Exalted Council and its inevitable politics can do without her for a few more minutes. Or hours, but she's afraid she doesn't have that luxury.

Cassandra sits down on a bench in the minimal shade of a sapling and turns her face against the wind. She rolls her shoulders and folds her hands into fists before unfolding them again and cracking her knuckles. It is far from cold in Orlais at this time of year, but her joints feel stiff. Most of the bones in her hand have been broken at least once, and she is slowly starting to feel the consequences of being a heavily trained but ageing warrior. Some time ago she found evidence of greying hair, and while she doesn't really mind, it is yet another reminder that time waits for absolutely no one. Cassandra groans – this is not the time to be getting old; there are too many things still left undone.

She waits ten minutes, and then another ten, but the owner of the book doesn't show up. She stands up and stretches her legs. Before she knows it, her feet have carried her over to the bench with the book on it. She looks around to see if anyone has entered the garden, but her hand is already reaching out.

The book appears to be well-read. There are multiple colored ribbons sticking out of the story, marking the owner's favorite passages. (Cassandra would have simply folded the corners of the pages, but this person is clearly made of daintier material.)

Both the author and the title are unfamiliar to her, but the illustration on the cover certainly isn't; how often hasn't she opened a novel with similar imagery and quietly enjoyed immersing herself in the romance that was hidden behind it?

She turns the worn leather, knowing that some people have the habit of writing their name in their books to mark them as their property. Cassandra herself has always been too careful not to spoil the inside of her books with her clumsy left-handed scribbles.

See, there it is, a name written in beautiful, practiced cursive.

_If found, please return to Lady Yvette Montilyet._

Oh.

That is a surprise, to say the least. Yvette Montilyet is most definitely not here in the Winter Palace, and Cassandra doubts she has been here in the past few months. Admittedly, Cassandra hasn't bothered keeping up with all possible balls Yvette could have attended in the past year, but it is highly unlikely that she has frequented the Winter Palace recently. In conclusion, why a book bearing Yvette Montilyet's name is littering the palace gardens is a mystery.

Cassandra can't be too bothered by solving it right now though, as the mention of the Montilyet family name triggers memories of a certain someone. Cassandra's reaction is a surprise she does not consider very pleasant. She is caught completely unawares by the flutter in her stomach and the way the corners of her mouth curl into a fond smile.

She hasn't seen Josephine in a year. She thought she was over this.

It's true that Cassandra caught glimpses of Josephine in the distance earlier on, dressed up in her bright red Inquisition livery and speaking to the Inquisitor with her usual animated gestures, but Cassandra hasn’t had the time to speak with her. Now she isn't even sure if she wants to – the simple mention of Josephine's family name and the memory of Josephine's person bring a telltale warmth to her cheeks. She cannot deny that this means she still cares for Josephine. Her futile infatuation apparently never left her, it just remained simmering quietly underneath a thin layer of distractions of duty.

Cassandra sighs, closes her eyes and rubs her eyelids.

There were definitely times when she thought Josephine was letting her know that her advances would not be unwelcome, smiling too broadly at Cassandra's ill-timed, dry-witted jokes or letting her hand linger on Cassandra's arm just a fraction of a second beyond propriety.  

But Josephine's behavior was not something she saved exclusively for Cassandra, as she treated almost all of her friends like this. Cassandra thought nothing of it. Wanted to think nothing of it.

It was better like this, this looking, _hoping_ from afar. Cassandra, a brazen warrior known to lack grace, engaged in a courtship with a gentle, graceful diplomat? Unthinkable. Cassandra often doubted even a patient person like Josephine would be able to handle her quickly-tempered self. It would have been futile to lay herself bare if her sentiments could not be reciprocated, and so Cassandra did them both a favor by never acting on her feelings.

Cassandra closes the book and turns it around in her hands once more, as though by thoroughly examining it, she can make the book – or at least the detail that connects it to its owner – disappear somehow. Neither one of those things happens, though, and Cassandra rejects the idea of putting the book back where she found it; it needs to be returned to its owner. Since Yvette is possibly hundreds of miles away, Cassandra vouches to return the book to Josephine personally, as soon as she can. It is the next best option, surely.

The opportunity reveals itself sooner than she expected; being a respected member of the Inquisition and having the reputation of being somewhat difficult to approach to boot does have its advantages, and she can wander across the grounds without being disturbed. As soon as Josephine's meticulous schedule allows the smallest of breaks, Cassandra follows her and approaches her cautiously. There is no one of note around, only a few tittering Orlesian nobles, too caught up in their own masquerade to notice the two Inquisition members conversing between the flowers.

It does not take extensive knowledge of people to see that Josephine is tense. She is pacing, and since she is no longer holding her writing board and pen, she jumps and her hands are sent flailing when Cassandra calls out her name.

"Cassandra!" Josephine says, clasping her hands together in delight, but then she coughs, straightening her posture.  "I do apologize. I haven't seen you in quite some time."

"Yes, I have been…away. I'm sure you are aware I've been trying to rebuild the Seekers."

"I am. You must tell me all about it when I am not wrapped up in matters pertaining to the Council, although I doubt my schedule will allow the necessary gap anytime soon."

 _I am here now, why not take this opportunity to talk to me?_ Cassandra thinks, but she doesn't voice her thoughts. Instead, she holds out the book.

"Here, I found this on a bench in the garden," she says. "I believe it belongs to your sister."

"What?" Josephine frowns. The afternoon sun on her skin emphasizes the freckles on her cheeks and the wrinkles in her nose alike. Yes, this is why Cassandra was taken with her in the first place.

Josephine takes the book in her hands and opens it. When she reads the handwriting on the inside, she sighs. "Oh Yvette, how did this even end up here?" she says, her voice full of fond exasperation. "Never mind, I can think of a few ways."

"I take it the book will be returned to its rightful owner?"

"Yes, I shall see to it, even if it might take a while before I see her again. Thank you for bringing me this, Cassandra. It is good to see you again, however briefly. I have missed you." Josephine's eyes widen in alarm and her cheeks grow darker. "Many members of the inner circle have gone their own way, and I have missed all of you. Wicked Grace nights are not nearly as much fun as they used to be, I assure you."

Josephine is babbling. It is as endearing as it ever was.

"I do not miss losing all my coin to you," Cassandra says dryly.

Josephine's laugh contains a high level of self-awareness. "Well…"

"I would rather lose it to you than to anyone else, though," Cassandra says, remembering one time in particular when Josephine had been unable to attend their round of cards due to other duties, and Varric managed to win the entire pot with the most irritating of smug smiles on his face. No, Cassandra would definitely prefer losing her coin to the usually golden-clad diplomat in front of her, if only to make her sly, slightly mischievous side come out.

"The way you say that makes it sound like you are excessively fond of me," Josephine says. It is meant to tease Cassandra, a verbal nudge against her shoulder, but it has an effect even Josephine could not have foreseen.

"I am," Cassandra says before she can stop herself, staring woodenly ahead once the confession has left her. She could have saved herself by quickly adding "I'm fond of you as I am fond of all my friends" or something similar, but Cassandra is a terrible liar and she does not feel comfortable spawning lies either, unless she is using them as a last resort.

Josephine lets out a surprised giggle. "Ah, yes, of course you…you are?"

Cassandra can feel the blood flowing into her ears, coloring them bright red. If she hadn't been such an obvious blusher, she could have gotten away with this, but now she desperately wants the ground to open up and swallow her right then and there.

"Forget about this," she says quickly, and makes to turn around, instantly realizing she would regret walking away from this. What harm could it do? She is too late anyway. If Josephine ever felt anything for her, it has long passed. It could become a joke between friends in months to come, and it would be mostly harmless.

And so, instead of turning away, Cassandra holds her ground.

"You know what? Yes, yes, I am," she says, "I have been 'excessively fond' of you for a very long time. I'm sorry if I just made things awkward between us; I merely thought you deserved to know."

Josephine momentarily seems to have forgotten all about the Council, as her hand flutters to her mouth in shock.

"Are you…joking? You're not, are you?" Josephine is staring at her, now, but Cassandra refuses to look at her as she feels the color stretch from her cheeks to her neck and all the way into her collar.

"Oh Cassandra," Josephine says, "why have you never said anything?"

"Because I am stubborn and a fool and did not want to admit that I cared for…" _a woman, and especially one as gentle as you,_ "you. The chance passed me by and I did not latch onto it, and now it is too late. I'm sorry. Please pretend I never said any of this."

Cassandra itches to leave and ignore Josephine for the rest of the Council, but that would ask for a behavior that goes against her very nature. She is not a coward, and she will face this conversation, even if it steeps herself in embarrassment. Despite herself, she does take a step back, away from Josephine.

"What do you mean it's too late?" The volume of Josephine's voice stays the same, cautious not to alarm any people around them, but her words become noticeably heavier and gain a sharper edge. "What makes you think I would have rejected you?" Josephine shakes her head quietly, "Oh Maker, I should've said something, anything at all, to make you see, but I wasn't certain if you…"

"Are we both fools, then?" Cassandra asks. She can't hide how hope fills her. The color on her cheeks is still there, but now her grin is there as another aspect she can't wipe off her face.

Josephine nods, but she doesn't seem to share in Cassandra's joy.

"It seems we are."

"So what happens now?" Cassandra asks. There's a lot she wants to say, and do, but Josephine's next words shatter her wishes.

"I would like to talk to you after the Council. I promise I want to try to make this work between us, but this all is quite ill-timed. I know you do not like to hear this, but I cannot afford distractions, not at this moment. I hope you understand."

Cassandra nods. At least it is not a rejection. All things considered, this conversation went better than she had ever dared hope, especially since it was instigated by her own clumsiness. And she understands Josephine's point of view, even though she doesn't necessarily agree with it. Perhaps it is because Cassandra has the tendency to jump into things, or perhaps it is because she has already waited for so long, wanted for so long, that she does not care for waiting another hour. Possibly, it's both.

"Excuse me, but I should really return to my duties," Josephine says. This stings, this white lie, but Cassandra doesn't call Josephine out on it; Josephine has enough on her mind already without Cassandra meddling with her thoughts.

"I wish you luck," Cassandra says earnestly.

"Thank you," Josephine already seems half-emerged in her role of Ambassador again. "This time, I might need it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please also check out the epilogue, which is short but sweet.

The Winter Palace looks different at night - less forgiving to those who choose to wander straight into its traps. This is how Cassandra remembers the place from a couple of years ago, and the dangers lurking within are still oddly similar to those that threatened them back then: unexpected intruders and spies from faraway nations, the lot of them unwanted.

Cassandra is in urgent need of some peace, so she retreats to her familiar corner of the garden as soon as she has the opportunity to do so – of course she wouldn't flee as long as her presence is needed, and she would never allow herself to be caught standing idly by, but it is also good to recognize that she needs time away from the crowd sometimes.

The braziers that have been lit, and she cranes her neck to focus on the dancing flame. She tries to empty her head, but there is too much going on, thoughts tangled together in knots. This is not the right place to be doing this; alarmed voices and strangled laughter from far away keep pulling her back to the present, and for every thought she bids farewell, three others emerge. Eventually, she gives up, and takes off her gloves to rub her face with her hands.

So much has happened. What started out as a purely political affair has escalated into something that is rapidly evolving beyond the Inquisition's control, and in the mere span of four days forces from beyond the borders have started to turn the world on its axis.

The Inquisitor has admitted that the Inquisition has worked itself in a corner, and that the prospects of a good result during this Council have severely diminished. If the complicating factors hadn't been there, the nations present could at least have agreed on certain matters, and all parties involved could have been placated…but there are dangers coming from far beyond the Orlesian borders, with a Qunari horde threatening them with orders coming all the way from Seheron.

But that's not all.

They are in immediate peril, all of them, but it is the Inquisitor who seems to be carrying the major burden: the mark is spreading, burning from the inside out, and the bursts of pain are coming at a faster rate than ever before. This is magic beyond the knowledge of any of the Inquisition's members, and so there is reason for serious concern.

Cassandra, naturally, worries for her friend; she herself has always thrived well under pressure, but only when it was laid upon her shoulders and her shoulders only. She does not like seeing it crush the people she considers her friends.

The Inquisitor, a young talented Dalish mage who thought they had their path in life cut out for them before the destruction of the Divine Conclave, spent years stooped under the weight of their responsibilities. Before the downfall of Corypheus, few knew how the burden could become almost too much to bear at times, but the Inquisitor has since taken off the shroud of pretense they carried around. Roughly half an hour ago they didn't bother hiding how hopeless they were, their hair tousled from running their hands through it, their eyes undeniably red and puffed up while they told some of their closest friends to prepare to fight their way through the Darvaarad. They emphasized infiltrating a fortress filled to the brim with Ben-Hasrath agents is a most dangerous undertaking, but it is vital that they succeed if they want thwart the Qunari plans.

Despite their fear, Cassandra knows the Inquisitor well enough to see they haven't made peace with the idea of dying yet. Lavellan is a fighter, and as different as their backgrounds may be, Cassandra sees a lot of her young self reflected in the elf. And if the Inquisitor hasn't given up quite yet, neither has Cassandra. They have to move, ever forward.

If only it were that simple…but it is not, not now she is sitting here, with a myriad of issues to reflect on, and her mind is pulled to more personal matters that are none but hers and Josephine's.

Cassandra has been distracted enough not to let their exchange linger on her mind too much, but if she does allow herself to remember, this is the first thing that comes seeping in through the seams.

She shouldn't have instigated this, shouldn't have laid her heart bare at the most uncomfortable of times; all it has earned her is more personal strife, and although she is not completely unfamiliar with heavy bouts of conflicting emotions, she hasn't got much experience with these ones in particular.

Everything would have been just fine if she hadn't learned that Josephine cared for her. This awareness has brought her something new to care about, an ideal she will sharpen her blade for, a hazy dream she wants to make a reality. If there is a chance of an ever after, and a happy one at that, she will fight for it; she will not allow this to slip through her fingers.

Cassandra has made things difficult for herself.

 _Of course I have,_ Cassandra thinks, _nothing is ever easy, is it?_

She hasn't had the opportunity to speak with Josephine in private ever since their initial conversation. The words they did share over the past few days have been in the presence of others, and perhaps this has been for the best. Even though she has made sure not to directly avoid Josephine, Cassandra feels highly tense around her, so much so that Josephine must have noticed it. Truthfully, Cassandra is afraid to stand in Josephine's way; she knows Josephine is a highly professional and effective woman and respects that more than anything, and it would be no good to meddle in matters Cassandra lacks the knowledge of, only to be at Josephine's side.

Still, the pressure that has been put upon the Inquisition made Cassandra realize something, and the more time progresses the more certain she becomes of this: she is distinctively faltering to understand Josephine's point of view. What Josephine suggested - waiting until this is over - goes against everything Cassandra feels. She was impatient even before it became clear what kind of situation the Inquisition was in, and uncovering a plot that could change the world they live in has done nothing to douse her unwillingness to wait. Why not give in if they know what they want?

Cassandra bends forward, elbows on her knees, and ruffles her hair with a sigh. She hears soft footsteps down the path, but doesn't look up until Josephine is standing in front of her; she almost wants to ask Josephine how she found her, but thinks better of it.

"Cassandra?" Josephine wrings her hands. "You have been so quiet. You do not seem to be very happy when I am around. Have I done something to upset you?"

 _No,_ Cassandra wants to say, _you have done nothing wrong. Circumstances have not been kind to us. It is not your fault._

Cassandra has seldom been faced so directly with her own mortality. It is a grim thought, but the odds are not in her favor, as evidence is piling up that this might just be her last battle. And if it is, then Josephine's sweet, sweet promise will remain all that it is: a promise, and nothing more. Cassandra would make the sacrifice if she had to, even if the stakes have been raised for her personally. Still, she struggles with the idea, because she does not want Josephine to be left behind if she does not make it to the end.

Trying to find the right words to express herself, Cassandra toys with the leather straps of the gloves lying next to her on the bench. She doesn't mean to frown, but somehow her most characteristic expression finds its way onto her face after all. Frustrated and failing to be anything but subtle about it, Cassandra digs the nose of her boot into the moss between the stones of the path before looking up.

She doesn't want to wait. She wants…she wants…

She rises, knowing what kind of imposing figure she is capable for standing with her height and backlit silhouette, and within a few poignant steps she's standing right in front of Josephine. Perhaps she stands a little closer than etiquette dictates, but there is no one around to tell her what she can and what she can't do. She has made up her mind and nothing, not even the latent insecurity that remains somewhere within, will stop her.

"I don't want to wait," she says, leaving the numerous uncertainties, the what-ifs, the 'I-might-dies' unspoken; they do not need to be voiced.

Josephine is so close, and she has barely changed during the past year, save for perhaps her tired eyes that color a duller grey than before, even though they're reflecting the bright yellows and oranges of the lit brazier. She is still utterly beautiful, and Cassandra can finally allow herself to think like this now, without the tinge of denial that used to accompany this kind of thoughts in the past.

"Oh," Josephine says, but she doesn't back away. If anything, she moves closer. Cassandra has to bend her neck to look her in the eye.

"Please," Cassandra says, appalled at how desperate she sounds. She swallows thickly. "Let me have this, at least. Let me tell you goodbye."

She wishes it is enough to make Josephine understand exactly what it is she wants without saying the words.

And yes, Josephine bites her bottom lip, and her eyes linger briefly on Cassandra's mouth.

"All right," Josephine says. Cassandra doesn't expect Josephine to yield as easily as she does, but it wouldn't surprise her if by now Josephine is feeling the same sense of urgency Cassandra has felt all along.

It is all but an uncomfortable clash of teeth, so eagerly Cassandra pulls Josephine towards her with her hands at the sides of her head. They adjust; their mouths soften, and Cassandra loosens her grip. Josephine's arms wrap around her waist, and Cassandra can feel the buttons of Josephine's formal coat and what lies underneath pressing against her chest.

The kiss is far from romantic, as fraught with goodbyes as it is. The moment is born out of the desperation of a warrior, and Cassandra hopes to have many chances to redo it properly, in private or in front of everyone while people point and stare. It doesn't matter when or where, as long as it is the two of them, together.

Josephine stops kissing her and embraces her instead, her cheek turned against Cassandra's shoulder and her hands rubbing Cassandra's back. Cassandra hasn't been held like this in a long, long time, and so she holds onto Josephine with all her might.

"I will pray for your safe return, my lady," Josephine mumbles into Cassandra's jerkin. "After all, I have a promise to fulfill."

Cassandra doesn't say a thing. She's afraid even a single word could be enough to bring cracks in the fragile surface of the moment, so she simply kisses the crown of Josephine's head. She catches a whiff of fragrant hair oil and wonders what it would be like to be allowed to take down Josephine's hair, wonders if the scent would come tumbling down her shoulders along with the dark waves. It is a small, but most welcome pinprick of light in the darkness.

"I…have a confession to make," Josephine says, and moves back a little so she can look Cassandra in the face. "When I said I could not afford any distractions, I wanted to see if I still felt for you in the way I used to, because I simply wasn't certain. As it turns out, I do," Josephine smiles, shyly almost, before she leans in, "I more than do."

Their second kiss is much gentler, and Cassandra takes a moment to savor it. Kissing Josephine, as it turns out, is much better than anything she ever imagined. It seems only natural to want this, to keep wanting Josephine's sweet breath against her mouth. She almost forgets what is awaiting her. Almost.

"Thank you for telling me this." Cassandra takes a step back. "I appreciate you being honest with me."

"I thought you would."

"I – we – should go back to join the others."

"Hold on, you are about to forget your gloves," Josephine says, and picks them up from the garden bench, brushing her thumbs over the leather as though they contain a long forgotten memory. Cassandra raises her hand, ready to take the offending items and put them on again…but instead of handing the gloves to her immediately, Josephine draws Cassandra's hand closer and brings the knuckles to her lips.

For the first time that night, Cassandra's heart is truly sent soaring, her pulse pounding in her ears. How did Josephine know that kissing her like this would have this effect on her? Or was it an educated guess? Cassandra wonders if she herself even knew. No one has tried to do this to her, after all, at least not when she enjoyed it. She quickly pushes away the lurid memory of unwanted suitors with disgusting wet mouths.

"I wish you all the luck in the world, my lady," Josephine says softly. "Please return."

(She doesn't say "to me", but she might as well have.)

Josephine gives her the subtlest of bows, turns around, and leaves. There is an unspoken pact between the two of them that they will not talk about this to their friends and colleagues just yet. If they don't, no one will suspect what happened between them in this reclusive corner, and even if people do harbor a certain suspicion, surely there could not be any harm in this? There are mitigating circumstances; people should be lenient.

Cassandra looks down. She can barely distinguish the feint mark of coral lips on the knuckles of her left hand. She should be buzzing with ecstatic energy, but all that fills her is a sense of dread.

She clenches her hands into fists, her weary fingers protesting as her nails dig into her skin. Groaning, she closes her eyes; the sudden frustration she feels is enough to pull her out of her apprehension, finding some sense within herself at last.

Isn't this what she does, balancing on the edge, pushing back the chance of fatality with her skills and experience? She has fallen on the right side of the line time and time again - why would the equilibrium of fate fail her this time?

With one last, deep breath, she puts on her gloves, finding some comfort in the familiar sensation of the worn ram leather against her skin.

She's ready.

She walks back into the light, where the others are helping the Inquisitor into their armor before putting on their own protective gear, and Cassandra joins them. She nods at the others, stance wide, shoulders low and head held up high.

When Cassandra enters the eluvian one last time, she doesn't yet know that she will live, and that she will come back carrying an Inquisitor on the edge of death.

Their arm no longer bears the mark, but Lavellan is being torn apart from the inside, the flesh rotting away while they scream in pain. They needs medical aid, and quickly. Cassandra has seen soldiers with less grave injuries lose their limbs, and so she fears that amputation is the only option if they want to keep the Inquisitor alive.

No more is required of her once she has carried the Inquisitor inside the makeshift surgery. She moves away from the door so she no longer has to listen to muffled, worrying screams. Cassandra is no stranger to this kind of scenes or noises, so she will stay relatively calm under the circumstances. Yet she is filled with the pressing awareness that there isn't anything she can do to help. She has done her part, and now it is out of her hands. Her empty hands.

The story of what happened at the Darvaarad, the Elven temple, and ultimately, that the agent of Fen Harel was nothing but a smoke screen spreads quickly through the halls in voices whispered among the nobles and servants alike. Nobody tries to keep these stories confined within the Inquisition; all people present, regardless of origin or rank, take part in this story, and so it is theirs to tell as well.

Josephine comes to stand next to Cassandra and looks at her with questioning, grief-filled eyes, reflecting how everyone around them must feel. If there was ever a time to hold Josephine without raising questions, this would be it.

They are not alone; a few guards are standing behind them, watching the corridors. Dorian and Sera are hanging around further down the hallway, dejection tainting their every move, every gesture. Sera seems to be torn between punching either the wall or Dorian to get rid of her excessive feelings. Cassandra cannot blame her; she herself feels helpless, and she has to put some effort into keeping her head up high.

Josephine is holding her trembling hand in front of her mouth. She's crying without making a sound, Cassandra realizes.

"I'm sorry," Josephine apologizes through her tears, "we've just been through a lot, and they aren't certain if the Inquisitor will make it, and-"

Without hesitation, Cassandra puts her arm around her, and Josephine turns her face into Cassandra's shoulder as though it is her natural resting place.

"I yelled at Cullen, back in the War Room," Josephine admits, sniffing quietly. "And then I yelled at the rest of them even though they couldn't hear it. They had put everything at stake, everything I had worked for…and now it doesn’t seem to matter anymore."

"We have not lost," Cassandra reminds her, and it seems but a small consolation for Josephine, who shrugs in her embrace.

"Solas, of all people," she can hear Josephine mutter. There is a very subtle malign tone to her voice, which Cassandra appreciates. "Who would have thought he would turn out to be…who he is? I always believed his hunches were no more than that what they appeared to be, but it turns out he _knew_ about all this. I feel so – so... _betrayed_."

"I think we all feel that way."

Later, Cassandra will tell Josephine that they could not have foreseen these events, that they could not have known they had someone like this in their midst. She will tell Josephine she had her doubts, at times, but that Solas knew exactly what to say whenever she expressed her suspicion. Later.

Down the hallway, Cassandra can see Sera elbowing Dorian and unsubtly pointing in their direction. Dorian retorts with something Cassandra can't hear. Apparently it's funny, because Sera snorts, and for a short moment her shoulders are no longer weighted with worry.

Cassandra realizes she was naïve, then, to think this would not attract attention. Strangely enough, she finds she doesn't care about anyone's opinions or the mocking she is inevitably facing when behaving this way. She is also certain Leliana is watching them somewhere, somehow, and she will hear it later, but for now she cannot seem to care. Honestly, she has other matters on her mind than being berated by the Spymaster for her taste in women.

Josephine doesn't seem to notice any of it all, or perhaps she simply knows better than to let it show. She's right, too, there should be other things on her mind. Things such as the Inquisitor's wellbeing, and the realization that the whole Inquisition has ultimately been betrayed by a liar who pretended to be one of their own. Cassandra feels ultimately disgusted by it all, angry with herself because she did not pry hard enough, did not follow up on her suspicions of the elven mage with as much fervor as she should have. She blames herself for parts of this situation, if not all of them.

They wait for a few of the longest hours of their lives. Cassandra takes off her armor tremendously slowly, piece by dented, scratched piece, if only to give her hands something to do.

Eventually one of the healers steps outside, and everyone stands up, waiting with bated breath what he has to say. His robes are stained with traces of was obviously is blood, but he smiles.

"The Inquisitor is safe," he says, and a dozen of relieved breaths echo through the hallway. Cassandra thanks the Maker for being kind, for watching over the Inquisitor and for not making more victims than He could have.

In a kind voice, the healer confirms what Cassandra already suspected: the Inquisitor's arm could not be saved, and they need to rest and heal before even thinking about meddling in any of the aspects of the Inquisition again. They might never find peace with the loss of their limb, but given that the alternative was dying, this is a decent bargain.

The mood in the hallway lifts significantly. Sera punches Dorian in the shoulder, and Cassandra catches herself grinning at the sight; Sera has been holding that one back for quite a few hours, but at least she is expressing joy instead of despair.

One by one, people retreat to their chambers or find a place to sleep in less comfortable locations than a bed. There are soldiers asleep on the floor, awkwardly sagged against the wall. They will regret this tomorrow, but Cassandra understands them, as she could fall asleep anywhere at this point as well. She has been awake for over thirty-six hours and operated under strenuous, stressful circumstances for nearly twelve. Her head and weary limbs are buzzing with fatigue, so she drags herself to her assigned chambers and barely manages to take off her boots before she fall face-first into her pillow and dozes off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

She doesn't get to embrace Josephine again until much later, a period countable in days, when Josephine is back in gold and silk, and they are no longer part of the Inquisition. Not officially, at least.

Knowing they will be driven apart by duties and promises made long before there was the idea of a future together, they arrange to meet again in a few months.

"…and we will take our time to catch up," Josephine says with a smile. She has cornered Cassandra in a deserted alcove, and there is something thrilling about this, something extremely intimate even if they hadn't been pressed up against each other the way they are. They are far from a secret by now, but they want to find a moment of privacy before the have to face the world once more.

"I look forward to seeing you again." Cassandra adjusts her hands' position on Josephine's hips. "I wish you and your family all the best."

"I can hardly wait to see them again," Josephine says honestly, and she tilts her head as her fingers play at the side of Cassandra's neck. "But I have not left yet, so please kiss me again while you still can."

That message does not fall on deaf ears.

 


	3. Epilogue

The nail is almost halfway down the wood when the runner approaches her.

"Excuse me, Seeker Cassandra?

Startled, Cassandra jerks and turns around, almost hitting the poor man in the head with her hammer. Why must he insist on interrupting her at this time?

"There is someone here who wants to speak with you. She said her name was Lady Montilyet, and-"

"Josephine is here?" Cassandra says. "But…how?" she frowns; there is at least a month left before their reunion was scheduled. Josephine should still be in Antiva at this point, at least, that is what her last letter said. Was she lying so she could turn up unexpected? Cassandra is not the biggest fan of surprises, but this one…this one, she could appreciate.

Although Cassandra wants to sate her curiosity, she doesn't wish to deliver sloppy work either, and so she hits the nail until it is firmly buried in the wood. She puts her hammer aside and takes off her gloves, wiping her hands on her shirt. Suddenly, she is very much aware of how covered in dirt and sweat she is. Well, Josephine has seen her in worse states - at least she isn't covered in blood or viscera.

"Take me to her."

Every stride away from the work site is filled with lightness at the prospect of being reunited with the woman she is, without doubt, in love with. And there, surely, standing underneath one of the many pine trees that surround the clearing, is Josephine. Although she looks completely out of place between all the workmen, she is standing there in her riding garb with staggering confidence and taking in the worksite and all the people that traverse its grounds. Her eyes stop wandering once she sees Cassandra.

Josephine waves at her.

"Hello, my lady." Josephine begins when Cassandra is close enough to see that Josephine's smile is loving and mischievous and bright.

"Josephine…" There are many questions on her tongue. Why, and how, and more.

Cassandra takes those last few steps eagerly…and lifts Josephine clear off her feet. Josephine shrieks, clasping her arms around Cassandra's shoulders before dissolving into laughter.

"People…are staring at us," Josephine giggles. It is like music to Cassandra's ears.

"Let them," Cassandra says lowly in her ear, and puts Josephine down so she can be kissed properly.

People are watching and pointing, and laughing with glee, even. This is how it should be.


End file.
